The Night Visitor (10 page)

“What in the world was Danny doing?”

“He flipped out.”

“I’m used to family members talking to their loved ones, but I’ve never seen anything like Danny with Junior,” Corliss said. “Danny would sit beside Junior, holding his hand and looking at him for hours. Danny told me that he and Junior were talking in their heads. I’d ask Danny ‘How’s Junior doing today?’ And Danny would say ‘He’s sad’ or ‘He’s showing me a beautiful place.’ It was sweet. Sad. I didn’t think it was real, of course. Whatever gives the family members peace.”

“Peace,” Sylvia said. “Whatever that is.”

23

Sylvia went to room 1. A sheet of hot-pink laminated paper was tacked to the doorframe. A message on it said:

Q
UARANTINED

Please wear clean protective garments to prevent the spread of infectious bacteria.

Discard garments in special receptacle when leaving.

Another notice in blue laminated paper was tacked beside it:

W
ELCOME TO MY HOME.

Please let me know you are here by greeting me by name.

Your touch is also appreciated.

I am trying hard to get well, so please bring only good

thoughts and words for me. Thank you for coming by. I enjoy your visits.

Sylvia heard her mother inside the room talking to Junior in the same tone one would use with an infant.

“Hi, Mom. I’m here.”

“Do you hear that,
mijo
? Sylvie’s here to see you. Sylvie’s here, baby.”

Sylvia knew the drill. She opened the top drawer of a pressboard cart outside the room. From boxes in the drawer, she took out a mask and gown of yellow paper cloth. She slipped on the gown and reached behind to loop the ties together. She pulled open the crimped mask, fitted it over her nose and mouth, and circled the elastic bands around each ear. From another drawer, she grabbed a pair of latex gloves.

She entered the room. “Hi, Bob,” she said to Mr. Patyk, an elderly man in the bed closest to the door. He held his right arm up high in the air for no apparent reason. He hadn’t been bedridden long enough for his limbs to have withered and retracted. His blue eyes were open but restless, focusing on nothing.

On a wall beneath a TV were two bulletin boards, one across from each bed. Tacked to the top of each was a sign hand-lettered in black marker:

Hello

I’m Robert Patyk (Bob)

and

Hello

I’m Guillermo Lara (Junior)

Fastened with thumbtacks to the cork were photos of the patients in healthier days and mementos. The items on the boards seemed to proclaim, I once was standing, just like you.

The wall space around Junior’s bed was covered with replicas of his artwork. His artist friends had reproduced many of Junior’s works so the family would have souvenirs. Junior’s art, painted by the alleged murderer of the supermodel Anya, brought top dollar at auction. The family had sold nearly all of it over the past five years to pay expenses, holding on to just a few pieces. Junior’s star had been rising at the time of the Five Points shootings. A critic had labeled his style “Barrio Renaissance” because of the way Junior melded the classics with the street art of East L.A., his hometown, in his work.

In the room was a reproduction of a nude Junior had done. The model’s pose was openly sexual, her legs crossed at the ankles, her arms stretched above her head. Her skin was luminous. Her long yellow hair was smooth. Her light blue eyes were sleepy and sensual. She waited for her lover wearing only heeled bedroom slippers. The model was Rory Langtry.

Rory had been Junior’s favorite subject during the two years they’d been together. Sylvia didn’t like this painting here. Danny had brought it to Junior’s room a few weeks ago. She’d asked him where he was going with it when she saw him taking it from the house. He’d told her that Junior had asked for it.

“Junior, Sylvie finally came to see you.”

Sylvia grimaced behind the mask as she approached Junior’s bed.

Fermina Lara was nuzzling Junior with a plush purple toy toucan that had a plastic beak striped in a rainbow of colors. She set it beside Junior’s pillow, the fingers of her small-size gloves flopping on her tiny hands.

“Hey, Junior. How you doin’, bro?” Sylvia ran her hand across his buzz-cut hair.

Junior seemed to writhe with delight. He twisted beneath the sheet and rolled his head against the pillow. His eyes were big in his skull-like face.

Sylvia’s hopes rose when she thought that he recognized her. When he focused the same attention on a mobile hanging over his bed, she felt silly. He hadn’t been looking at her. It was just a coincidence mixed with wishful thinking. A doctor had told her that Junior’s reactions were instinctive. Brain stem functions. Primal reactions to stimuli.

For Sylvia, Junior was a blank canvas on which his family projected their needs and desires. Junior was gone. He’d left them that night five years ago in Five Points. All that remained was this grotesque shell.

Sylvia held Junior’s hand around the rubber bar that was frozen in his grasp. She ran her thumb across a blue mark on the back of his hand between his thumb and forefinger. It had been a tattoo of an angel, her wings extended. Junior had done it himself when he was a teenager, using blue ink from a ballpoint pen. His skin was now so withered the angel’s wings and her once delicate face were nothing but a blob.

Sylvia shook her head. “It’s nuts, Danny thinking that he and Junior communicated. Look at him. I came to tell him about Danny, and it’s ridiculous.”

Fermina put up her hand to shield Junior’s face and made a shushing noise. She walked to the doorway, crooking her finger for Sylvia to follow, her eyebrows knitted above her paper mask.

Outside the room, Fermina whispered, “He doesn’t need to know about that. I told him Danny took a trip. I don’t want to set Junior back. The doctor talked to me about dialysis for his kidneys.”

“Dialysis? Mom, you can’t be serious.”

“We have to do it,
mija.
He’s better today. Don’t you see how alert he is? He’s never looked at me like that before, straight at me. He’s really seeing me.”

Sylvia made a face. The mask partially concealed it. “Hasn’t Junior been through enough?”

“There’s a reason he’s still here. I will not play God.”

“But you
are
playing God.”

She gave her daughter a scornful look. “Enough.” She went back into the room. Sylvia followed her.

Corliss entered carrying a pile of fresh linens. “Hi, Bob,” she said in a robust voice, dropping a stack of linens on the end of his bed. “Hey, Junior. Whassup, my man? I love it when your mom is here to help me change your sheets. Fermina gets those hospital corners tighter than anyone I know.”

She grabbed a yellow nylon privacy curtain and yanked it around the bed. Fermina pulled off Junior’s blanket and top sheet and removed his gown.

Sylvia hated this. It was bad enough seeing Junior under covers. Here was her big brother, once tall and strong, handsome and funny, who used to hold her by her leg and arm and spin her around in the front yard until she was dizzy, who could have any woman he wanted, and did, and here was her tiny mother, moving him like a rag doll.

Fermina and Corliss rolled Junior onto his side. Sylvia grimaced at the pressure sores on his back. The ones on each shoulder blade were saucer-size. A crater extended across his lower back.

Corliss went into the bathroom and returned carrying a tub of soapy water.

“Is that his bone?” Sylvia asked.

Corliss began soaping Junior. “Yep. We do all we can. Take off the dead skin to encourage new growth. Change Junior’s position every two hours. He’s on a floatation mattress.” She pushed the mattress to demonstrate.

“I’m not criticizing, Corliss. I know Junior’s getting great care. It’s just that…I’m gonna step outside for a second.” Sylvia fled the room.

Behind her, she heard her mother, “Does that feel good,
mijo
? Nice warm water…”

* * *

When Sylvia returned, Junior’s bath was over and he was again covered up.

“Look, Sylvia.” Her mom was playing with the purple toucan. “I bought it at the swap meet. He loves it. Look at him.” She nuzzled the toy against her son’s neck, bobbing her head with its neat puff of short black hair. Her eyes were bright above the yellow mask. “Yes, Mommy. I love it.”

Junior scrunched his shoulder where she was tickling him and made awkward brushing movements with his contorted arms. His eyes grew even wider.

“Say ‘Yes, Mommy. Yes, Mommy.’ ” Fermina pulled out a string on the toy bird. “Look, Sylvie. Watch.” She released the string and the bird started whistling and singing in a high-pitched electronic voice the Disney tune “It’s a Small World.”

Junior swam his legs. His jaw gyrated as he twisted his head from side to side. He moved his bent arms, as if he were trying to grab the toy.

Sylvia tried to blot out the memory of the bedsores on Junior’s back. She thought about Detective Auburn showing her the bloody gauze squares and the antibiotics and the first-aid supplies in Danny’s room.

Her mother again pulled the toy’s string and the song again played.

Sylvia frowned at Junior and wondered about him and Danny as her mother sang, “It’s a small world…”

24

Evelyn was settled in the recliner in Rory’s hospital room with a stack of brochures, magazines, and her laptop as she perused floral arrangements. The Dinosaur Ball, the benefit for the Museum of Natural History, was around the corner. She had been behind schedule even before Rory’s accident. She also wanted to start planning flowers for Rory and Tom’s wedding. There would be a wedding next June. She refused to think otherwise.

Rory stirred and mumbled. Evelyn looked up from her work. After a moment, she set the brochures aside and rose, not believing what she thought she’d heard. When she approached Rory’s bed, she saw it was true. Rory was laughing.

Evelyn took her hand. “Rory, darling? Mommy’s here.”

Rory pulled her hand away and reached both arms into the air, giggling. Her eyes were open and focused.

“Oh my goodness.” Evelyn ran from the room. “Someone come here, please. She’s back. Rory’s come back. She’s laughing.”

Joy, the nurse, poked her head out from the next room. “Be right there, Mrs. Tate.”

Evelyn huffed and returned to Rory’s side.

Rory’s hands were still raised above her head, palms open, as if she were holding something between them. She scrunched her shoulders as if being tickled. She began humming.

“Rory, honey. Look at me.”

“Look.” Rory didn’t seem to know that her mother was there.

“Baby, it’s Mommy.” Evelyn grabbed Rory’s hands.

With surprising strength, Rory twisted from her grasp and cried out. She again raised her hands above her head, laughing and singing broken syllables.

Joy came in and leaned over the bed. “Well, Rory. What do you have to say to us today?”

Rory didn’t acknowledge her.

Joy tried again. “What’s your name?”

Rory kept humming.

Joy persisted. “Is your name Rory?”

“Yes. Lookit. Look.” She laughed, still holding the invisible object.

Evelyn let out a yelp.

“Mrs. Tate, you try. Ask if she knows you.”

“Rory, do you know who I am?” Evelyn leaned into Rory’s field of vision.

Rory pushed her mother away. “No.”

Evelyn’s voice choked. With both hands, she turned Rory’s face toward her. “Rory, who am I?”

“Go away.”

Evelyn released her.

Rory again raised her hands and hummed.

“She seems more alert,” Joy said.

“But it’s so random. It’s like she’s sleepwalking.”

Joy patted Evelyn’s shoulder. “Stay positive. Keep talking to her. She’s coming around.” She stopped at the open sliding glass door. “Strange, but I swear she’s humming ‘It’s a Small World.’ ”

25

It was night in the subacute unit. The same dim lights burned in the patient rooms as were on during the day. The nursing activities proceeded according to the same schedule. The unit was just as quiet.

Keith, the night nurse, was suctioning Mr. Patyk’s tracheostomy. Mr. Patyk’s blue eyes grew wide and his arm waved frantically while he was temporarily unable to breathe.

The procedure was quickly over. Keith looped a lock of stringy, long hair behind his ear and was reattaching the respirator when a noise made him turn. Junior was squirming on the bed, his hips on his stiff body gyrating.

“What’s up, buddy?” Keith approached him.

On the monitor, Keith saw Junior’s blood pressure rise. He followed Junior’s gaze, which seemed to be intently focused on the nude portrait of the slender blonde with pale skin and small breasts. Keith knew the painting well and was glad when the unit administrator had allowed it to stay after Danny had brought it. Keith couldn’t see a photograph of Rory Langtry now without imagining those perky breasts beneath her clothes.

He again looked at Junior, surprised. Junior’s writhing escalated as the heart monitor blipped faster and his blood pressure went higher.

“No way.” He raised Junior’s bed coverings and took a peek under the gown. “Didn’t think so. Couldn’t happen with that catheter.”

Junior’s physical state achieved an intensity that was unmistakable. After, the tension left his body. He closed his eyes. A rosy hue flooded his cheeks.

“Who knows? They say sex takes place mostly in the mind.” He patted Junior’s shoulder. “You the man.”

Keith left the room, smiling.

* * *

Tom was in the recliner in Rory’s hospital room, absorbed in the biography he was reading. It was nighttime and quiet in the ICU, where it was quiet regardless of the hour. Few visitors were allowed. The whirring and blipping of the medical equipment provided soothing background noise.